


No One Ever Really Leaves

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Series: A Modicum of Humanity Makes Everything Harder [16]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Things, F/M, Gen, Homelessness, I really don't know, think of this as a future fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: Dick Grayson has started college, and things are going well, but a familiar face on an unfamiliar person drags him back into the family business, at least for a night.





	No One Ever Really Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched Gotham sort of out of order, and it wasn't until I was partway through writing Evol Love that I finally saw the introduction episode for Five and... I fell in love. I needed to get him in this somewhere, and I finally found out where it would work.

Okay, so it's like, Dick has no problem with Bruce dropping in on his studies. He  _ gets  _ it; he only moved in three years ago and now he's in a rinky dink dorm all the way across town, but he's at the Manor every weekend making sure the new kid isn't getting himself beat up without some proper sparring under his belt. And he'll eat his shoe before he snubs Alfred's cooking in favor of the mass produced trays of bland served in the main cafeteria.

Plus there's Patrick, who's bright eyed and energetic and, honestly, a big part of why he loves going home on the weekends. No one else wants to make tents out of the sitting room furniture or summersault race in the garden. And his acrobatic stunts always get a good laugh and some uncoordinated but enthusiastic clapping.

But all that aside, he can't condone Bruce sneaking into his evening Physics lecture and lurking like a big ol' creep in the back. Either no one notices Bruce Wayne, sans his usual fancy attire in favor of some sloppy sweats, or they're too gobsmacked to comment. Dick sure is, at least until after everyone else has gone. He stands in front of the wheelchair accessible desk until Bruce stops picking at his unnaturally grimy nails long enough to look up.

"Jeez, you worried I'm wasting your hard earned pocket change?" he teases, but Bruce is doing a swell fish impression, and some things he knows for a fact are starting to shed light on the whole picture.

Dick wasn't able to get away from studying last weekend, but he  _ did _ go home the week before, and it's not like he's taking exact measurements or anything but Bruce's hair was  _ not  _ long enough to do the messy bun thing he's sporting. And last he checked Bruce can lift a tank and he  _ looks  _ it too. This Bruce, this  _ imposter _ , looks like he couldn't lift the chair he's sitting in. And there's a certain… Dick doesn't want to be mean or anything but the guy kind of reeks.

"You're not Bruce," Dick says, very much the confident detective and  _ not  _ a wibbling teenager who might or might not have nearly fallen backwards down the lecture hall stairs. "You're, you're some… some uh, what are you!?"

"Please just listen," Bruce minus showers plus tons of hair growth holds up his hands in surrender, "you don't have to say anything."

"I don't know what makes you think I can do that!" Dick flounders. But he tries. Semi successfully.

"I know this is strange," smelly not-Bruce is  _ not  _ putting an accurate spin on this, holy hell, "I just want to talk to you."

"You want to talk?" Dick grabs the back of the closest chair for some stability. He's over head injuries for life. "Wait, you want to talk to  _ me _ ? Have you been stalking me!? Holy crap, Bruce will never let me leave the Manor again."

Faux Bruce shrinks down inside his sweatshirt. "I remember you. That's all. I saw you across the quad, and I remembered you."

"Re-?" Dick shakes his head. "Do you have Bruce's memories?"

"No I mean _ I  _ remember you," he emphasises with both hands, tapping his spider fingers against his chest, "me, and not him. It was an alley. There was a voice, and then smoke." He gets sheepish. "Sometimes, there's," he pulls his arms in and hugs himself, "I don't always know my own strength."

Dick touches the hairline scar on the back of his head, his little souvenir from a guy who's immune to smoke bombs. This guy, who's giving him more and more reasons to call campus security. "That was  _ you _ ?"

"I'm sorry," he whispers. If he draws into himself any more he might wink out of existence. "I panicked. I thought you were  _ him _ ."

"That's kind of flattering," Dick admits. He'll never get mistaken for Bruce, but Batman? Get the right night and maybe give him some laryngitis and he has a case.

The next class is starting to filter into the hall, and Dick makes a split second decision to keep their butts off anyone's radar. He grabs the guy by one of his twig-like arms and drags him up out of his chair and out the double doors. There's this hall leading to the labs that's only ever used by caffeine addled grad students and the occasional professor. They won't think anything of the two guys whispering about weird crap outside the gravity lab.

"You know, if you wanted to apologise I'd have accepted a card. You didn't have to follow me around campus."

"I didn't," he insists. "I just saw you. It was," he gestures to the outside, "when I was walking to Dunlap. It's always open, and sometimes people leave things there. Food, or clothes." He tugs at the hem of his too big sweatshirt. "It's getting colder out. Every night."

Yikes. The guy is looking a little worse for wear now that Dick can see his whole person and not just shoulders up. He's right, some of the campus buildings never close; he's probably been sleeping rough whenever security kicks out the obvious non-students. There might be an actual leaf in the guy's hair.

"There's shelters, you know. I mean," gah he doesn't think the guy's an idiot but maybe he just didn't  _ know _ , you know? "There are places you could go and not get yelled at by security."

"I know what I look like. Who I look like."

"Right," Dick sighs heavily. "So do you, like, I know you look like Bruce but do people call you that or-?"

"Five."

"Five, okay." Not the  _ weirdest _ name he's ever heard, but it's up there. "You're right. You look like Bruce Wayne. Hard to get around that."

But then again he also sort of  _ doesn _ 't look like Bruce. The building blocks are there, the same base shape, but whatever Five's life has been like it hasn't molded him the same way life molded Bruce. They're both kind of rough around the edges but Five is jagged, with bony shoulders and a wan face, but homelessness will do that to a guy.

"Dunlap has these smaller rooms," he explains, "study rooms. Open all night. Security won't bother you if they think you're studying." It's a drop in the ocean but he can't let Five freeze to death. It's not his fault he looks like Gotham's most noticeable billionaire. At least, Dick doesn't think it's his fault. "And, um, this is between us, okay? As long as you don't try to club me again."

"Okay."

"Great, well," Dick does an awkward wave he regrets instantly, but he can't speed away just yet. One, two, three steps-

"Wait," Dick pivots smoothly on his heels, he was ready for this. "Help me, please," Five curls inward with his hands in the big pocket of the sweatshirt, "not that you haven't already. You have, I just-"

"Okay," Dick nods, "alright, yeah. My dorm's this way."

-

At a quick glance this looks totally normal. Bruce has been inside Dick's dorm exactly once, when he first moved in for the school year, but anyone paying enough attention to notice the two of them isn't going to think much of Dick's guardian stopping by for a visit. Even if he isn't exactly looking like his usual self.

He's been frantically, but not too frantically, texting Barbara, hoping she's not too busy and can lend her particular brand of expertise in regards to Five. They're standing awkwardly in the middle of his dorm when she does, right when Dick was going to start coaxing Five to freshen up. If he's going to subject Barbara to this he'll present her with the best possible iteration.

"Hey Babs?" He gestures to the door and mouths "bathroom" to Five, "did your test go okay?"

"Yeah?" she laughs, must think Dick's losing his mind for pestering her so much when that's his opener. "It's just Calc 2. Why? Worried you weren't going to get to see me today?"

"I wanted to run something by you," he trails off when he finds Five still watching him with that confused bird curiosity of his. Dick tugs at his own shirt and gestures to his wardrobe. Five isn't getting it. "Sorry, Babs, one second," he covers his phone, "you can borrow stuff after you shower. My stuff's going to be too short, but..."

"Okay," Five says, relieved, and he rummages through Dick's sweats.

"Got a visitor?"

"Something like that," he keeps most of his focus on the bathroom until he hears the shower switch on, then he crosses the room and faceplants on his bed. "I don't know how to explain this but could you come over? I've sort of got a big thing to deal with and I need your advice."

"Sure. I'm just finishing up a study group." Oh thank God. Everything he's done in the last half hour is catching up to him and it's starting to make his chest feel tight. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I mean, I think so at least." He really hopes this wasn't a trap, especially if Barbara figures it out right away. He let Five into his dorm bathroom before even considering the possibility. "Say, are you close to any of the to go dining hall places?"

"Did you forget to eat again?"

"No!" He did, but still. "Can you bring something? Probably not too greasy."

"I don't know how I'll manage that on campus, but I'll try."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it." He hopes she can tell. Who is he kidding of course she can tell. Barbara's good at things like that.

"I don't know what you'd do without me." Holy crap he doesn't have a prayer without Barbara around to kick him into gear. "Try to not get into any trouble before I can get over there."

There's a thump from the bathroom, but nothing else to suggest he needs to run in to intervene on Five's behalf. For now at least. "I'll do my best."

-

Barbara shows up around the same time Five emerges from the bathroom, which is some God awful timing, because the thump was him somehow getting a nosebleed, so the first thing she sees walking into his dorm is Dick frantically trying to stop the bloodflow with a handful of tissues and his fingers on Five's nose.

"I forgot I gave you a key," is Dick's clever response. He lets go of Five and steps back to offer to take her bag, which she fends off with a look of horror at his bloody hands. And no, he didn't notice until she looked at him like that, so not a great second part to this whole ordeal.

"What are you even doing here, Mr Wayne?" And oh, he loves Barbara but her deduction skills could have stayed home for a night, because she's about ready to mace the poor guy when all he's done is bleed a little bit. He didn't even get that much on the floor. "Who are you!?"

"Babs, please, it's okay."

"I don't know why you think  _ that _ ," she snaps. Her hand's still buried in her purse, right where Dick thinks her taser hides out behind her wallet (and he'll never understand needing both but that's okay) so he does the honorable thing and stands between a girl and her target.

Oh crap he's probably going to die tonight.

"Babs, this is Five-"

"Okay. I  _ know  _ you have trouble with faces sometimes but you  _ know  _ he looks exactly like Bruce Wayne." She blinks. "Five?"

Dick shrugs. "It's what he told me."

"514A," Five says, "if you're looking to get technical."

Barbara leans to the side to look around Dick. "What's that mean? 514A?"

"It's me," he says plainly. "I'm," he gets another solid look at Barbara and takes a step back, "I'm Bruce's clone."

"That's," Dick breathes out in a rush, "okay, so, his clone?"

"Why didn't you call Bruce!" Barbara smacks his arm, which actually kind of hurts because her dad put her in self defense  _ way  _ too early. "Dick, what were you thinking!?"

"He asked for help!" Dick looks back to Five; he's retreating to a corner of the room that offers no escape unless he's planning on hopping out the window. "Babs, I know what it looks like, hey," he paps two fingers on her mouth, which she  _ hates _ , but only because it works so well, "can you give him a chance? He's been sleeping rough." He looks down at her bag. "Is that from the sandwich place?"

Barbara lifts up the bag, which contains exactly two premade sandwiches inside, and she sighs. "Silly me, I thought you wanted to have some sort of date night."

He grins. "Aw, you know I'm no good at being subtle."

"Yeah, don't know what I was thinking." That he's somehow a subtle romantic, which is adorable even if it's way outside his wheelhouse. You can take the boy from the circus. She gives Five a more gentle once over this time and pulls out a sandwich."Turkey or ham?"

-

Questioning Five while he eats doesn't work out so well, so Dick sits back and shares the turkey sandwich with Barbara while Five inhales the ham. He's still done before the two of them.

"So, how'd you know where to find Dick?" Barbara asks, and Dick nearly chokes on his bite.

Five looks between the two of them cautiously. "I think I'd prefer it if he told you."

"Why?"

Five looks at Dick again, nervous. "You already hit him once and you like him more than me."

It's Dick's turn to feel Barbara's scrutiny stab into him, and he fake whistles (he never did learn how to do it properly) until she kicks his shin. "Ow! Okay, okay, he recognized me."

"Uh huh."

Dang it, she always knows when he's hiding something. He says it in a rush, hoping she'll only hear some of the words. "And he was the one that kind of gave me a concussion last year. On accident."

"Richard Grayson!" Oh no. "Are you kidding me? You invited the guy that put you in the hospital to come into your dorm room. Alone. At night."

"Yeah that sounds way worse when you say it," she rolls her eyes, "but he said it was an accident!"

"Oh my God."

"It was," Five says quietly. He hides behind his hair when Barbara glares at him.

"Fine, okay, you're either being truthful or biding your time," she tells Five, "but you better think hard before going through with the second one." Five nods shakily. "Good."

"Can we ask you some things?" Dick asks. Just because Barbara's getting testy it doesn't mean he has to drop his manners. Five turns his attention to Dick, and away from Barbara, and nods again. "Why don't you have facial hair."

"Oh my God," Barbara mouths, "Dick, that is  _ not _ the most important thing to ask him right now."

"Okay, but you've been sleeping outside sometimes, right?" he gestures to Five, who hesitates but does eventually agree, "so, why don't you have facial hair? And don't say it's because he shaved, because he looked like a baby face  _ before  _ his shower."

Barbara screws up her face and harrumphs. "Fine, that's a reasonable thing to point out. I guess."

"I'm flattered." Dick laces his fingers together and sets his hands on the table. "So, what's the story here? Not really homeless?"

"It's," he picks at a nail, doesn't seem to notice when he goes too far and his cuticle bleeds. Barbara gets up to help deal with that while Five continues talking. "It's a side effect."

"A side effect?"

"I," he scrunches up when Barbara approaches, but she points out his finger, and he reluctantly offers it to her so she can clean and bandage the wound using Dick's little first aid kit. "I was sick." He touches his throat with his free hand. "Very sick. The doctor, he had an experimental treatment, and it worked, but some things weren't quite normal after he finished fixing me."

"Sounds like he didn't really fix you," Dick says.

"I'd be dead if he hadn't."

"Oh," Dick grimaces, "so, uh, a side effect. I guess that makes sense."

"You didn't notice this," Barbara says, and she holds up Five's bandaged finger.

"I didn't feel it," Five says. "That's," he shrugs, "it's always been like that. I've always been like that."

"Who's this doctor?" Barbara asks, really getting into the meat of things now. She returns to her chair, but keeps the first aid kit within arm’s reach. Smart.

"Hugo Strange," Five says, and Dick about rockets through the ceiling. "He found me. Saved me. In return I helped with his work."

"Uh huh," Dick encourages Five to continue while Barbara squeezes the hell out of his upper thigh. "So he like, why did he make a clone of Bruce?"

"I replaced him." Ho boy. "Temporarily. This group, they needed him-"

"The Court of Owls," Barbara interjects.

"The what of who?"

"You aren't the only bird themed person in Gotham, Dick," she says. "How have you not read about them?"

"I guess because they're not around?" He shrugs. "So what did they do?"

"Brainwashed Bruce," she says, "and used this guy to get away with it."

"They told me we were saving Gotham," he whispers. He tucks his injured hand into the fabric of his borrowed, baggy sleep shirt. "They lied. A lot."

"What did you help Strange do?" Dick asks. He can always read more about this Owl Court in Bruce's files.

"At first, he just studied me. The stabilization was the first of its kind." He twists his wrists, his neck, and there's a series of loud pops as he cracks his joints. Guess it doesn't mean everything is stable. "Then he was injured. Badly, and we were in hiding. It didn't heal properly. I started performing his experiments with his guidance, at first, and then on my own when he requested I do so."

"You were his assistant."

Barbara adds, "I'm guessing you didn't have a choice. You were supposed to be grateful, like it was the least you could do after he healed you."

"I am grateful?" Five says, clearly confused. "I'd be dead without his help."

"But?" Barbara asks. He's got to figure out how she knows there's a but to this story.

"Things were fine, I've learned so much from him, but then a man," Five shudders, "J. He started demanding things. Test subjects. Experiments." Five hugs his arms around his torso. "I don't want to hurt anyone anymore."

"How'd you get out?" Barbara asks softly.

"There was," he scrunches up real small, "some sort of plot. A woman. They wanted to make me," and he shuts down a little, with a full body shudder to really up the creep factor. "I didn't want to pretend to be him ever again."

_ Silver _ , Dick thinks. She never mentioned Bruce other than the hazy one from her worst nightmare. "You never saw her?"

"She didn't see me. I wore," he gestures to his mouth and nose, "and J only saw because he tried to gas me."

"Yeesh," Dick sucks a breath in through his teeth. "I'm sorry."

"I thought I could manage, but his face is increasingly present in this city. But if I try to leave Gotham it would have to be on foot."

And he'd die. That's it, that's the outcome. He'd keel over from exposure before he ever realized he was cold.

"We need to discuss some things," Barbara says, shocking both Five and Dick, but the latter scrambles up to follow her into the hall, "just stay here and wait for us, please."

Dick's dorm is at the end of a dumb hallway and right by the stairs, so if they stand in the right place no one should be able to sneak up on them without making a ton of noise. The doors are all heavy, and  _ very  _ loud.

"So, what do you think?"

"I don't like it." Barbara crosses her arms. "He's worked with Valeska, probably on his laughing gas."

"Yeah, that makes sense. Holy crap, this is kind of a mess."

"You do realize Strange probably made him in the first place. How else would he be able to stabilize him?"

"A lot of medical advances are pretty much blind luck," he says, shrugging, "but you're probably right."

"We have to tell Bruce," she insists. And he knows she's right, this is  _ big deal _ territory, but Five is skittish and impulsive when confronted. Dick has the scar to prove it. "If nothing else, we need to keep this guy that knows Batman's real identity from getting into the wrong hands."

"Yeah, I know," he's reluctant to agree but he'll do it when it's the right call. "And we can't let him wander around on the streets during winter."

"You know," she says in that pre-lecture sort of way, "you said you wanted to take a break from the whole crime fighting thing, Dick."

"I do. I am."

"You don't have to pretend if it's what you want to do," she says firmly. "You can balance the two. You did it in highschool."

"I know, Babs," he grabs her arm, "and I want to take a break. I  _ need _ a break." He looks at the door, imagining Five fretting over their absence, or maybe he's finally passed out on the couch. He needs it badly. "But he asked for help."

"You said that earlier," she sighs. "Your optimistic naivete is going to get you killed one of these days."

"Hey now," he counters, laughing, "I'll give you optimistic but I don't think I'm  _ that  _ naive."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say Dick Grayson." She hugs him, and he rests his chin on her head. "I'm sorry I kicked you, even if you were being reckless."

"Apology accepted." He'd already forgotten about it, and yeah, reckless might be his thing. "C'mon, let's go make sure he didn't hop out my window."

-

They luck out, because even though it's the middle of the night crime never sleeps, and apparently neither does Bruce. He's on patrol, Alfred says, and also a promise to pass along their request for a rooftop meeting. All they can do is wait.

It's the kid that shows up first, clad in a new version of Dick's old Robin armor and a cocky grin on his face. Dick holds out a hand, and Jason turns the simple shake into their dorky secret handshake that Dick not so secretly adores.

"Big guy couldn't be bothered to show up?"

"He's wrapping up with the Commish." Jason tries to send a smarmy look at Barbara, but he's solidly in the little brother box, plus she's in charge of keeping Five out of sight and Dick can hear him scuffling around anxiously behind the chimney. "We stopped Two Face from blowing a hole in the museum. Not a big deal."

"Sounds like a slow night," Dick teases. Jason sends a lazy punch at his arm, and Dick uses his height to his advantage to pull Jason into a headlock. "He teach you how to escape this one yet?"

And then Jason demonstrates that Bruce did, in fact, get around to showing him how to escape the ol' brother choke hold, and as Dick's vision stops swimming the night sky comes into focus. Nice night, he wishes the wind wasn't knocked out of him so he could enjoy it more.

It'd be nice if Barbara would stop laughing and help him up, or if Jason would at least pretend to be sorry instead of smirking down at him. "I think I'm stronger than you now."

"Not," Dick wheezes, "sure, pipsqueak."

"I mean," Jason finally offers Dick a hand and more or less yanks him to his feet, "I did just flip you. Can you flip me gramps?"

Oh, he'd love to flip him, but he settles for flipping him  _ off _ , which sends Jason into some infectious hyena cackles.

"Bet that doesn't work so well when the guy's twice your height." Scrappy fighter or no, Jason's about a hundred pounds wet. Dick remembers those days. "Is that my old armor, or did Bruce have to custom order it extra small?"

"My extra small foot can still kick your ass!"

Beneath the wrestling and pissing contests Dick does  _ like  _ the kid. He's a giant brat and he's too sure of himself for his own good, but he's crafty and he fights real dirty, which is honestly, sometimes the only way to win against a Rogue. Not that he's up to fighting them just yet. He probably maintained crowd control at the museum while Bruce did the heavy lifting. He's just soaking in the glory by proximity.

Dick is only a little, somewhat, okay maybe a lot bitter about Jim giving Jason the go ahead at  _ sixteen _ when Dick was stuck in the Batcave until he was a legal adult, but Jason's full of a particular brand of defiant determination that tells Dick he'd be sneaking out to do this even if he  _ wasn't _ allowed. At least this way he's safe.

Bruce will never outgrow his dramatic entrances, but Dick's dorm is the tallest building in this corner of campus, so he kind of slinks menacingly up the fire escape and looks behind Jason until he notices. Which he does, dramatically, with a bit of a squeak as he flinches.

"Glad you're keeping Gotham safe," he teases, and while he storms off to sulk somewhere Dick comes to stand in front of Bruce. "I bet you even let him drive already."

"Not by design," Bruce sighs tiredly, but he's watching Jason with a familiar, warm fondness. "I remember someone else sneaking off to help when he was told to stay home."

"Hey now, true, but you didn't have to say it." He runs a hand through his hair. "Bet you're wondering why we wanted you to come."

Except he doesn't get the chance to explain. Bruce doesn't even get the chance to  _ ask _ . And okay, so maybe Dick should have paid more attention to a few things, like Jason's trajectory and Barbara's attempt to get his attention without alerting Bruce, but it all goes out the window when Jason yells, "holy  _ fuck _ !" from across the roof and Bruce springs into action. By the time Dick catches up Bruce and Five are face to cowled face, Jason's doing a very convincing impression of someone that can fight off ten men with one arm behind his back, and poor Barbara is trying to mediate when she's a full head shorter than everyone but the kid.

Bruce shocks everyone into silence when he rips off his cowl. "Five?"

Five nods, just once, and Dick notices the flick of his hair more than anything. And then Bruce is pushing past him, sending a boulder sized fist right at Five's face-

Five dodges like it's nothing and sends a  _ mean  _ southpaw at Bruce's jaw, and it lands hard. The right side makes an ugly pop when Bruce works it open and shut, but he doesn't seem to notice, he's hell bent on landing the next hit, so Dick and Barbara both do some silent communicating with a pair of panicked looks. Dick slides in front of Bruce before he can properly wind up and Barbara focuses on keeping Five from bolting.

"Woah, easy there big guy," Dick pats a nervous hand on Bruce's armor, "he needs help."

"I'm familiar with what he needs," Bruce growls, but for all his huffing and puffing his jaw is already red, maybe on its way to getting a nasty bruise.

"I think he broke his hand," Barbara says, so Five didn't fare any better.

"Punching a brick wall will do that," Dick mutters. "Hey, Jason, do me a solid? Can you go like," he jerks his head to the side, "and prep Alfred or something? Got a couple injuries coming his way."

"You can't trust him," Bruce says lowly. As if Dick didn't already know that. "He's done things-"

"I guess we all have," Dick snaps. He turns around to get his own look at Five's hand and  _ yikes _ , it's already swelling up around two knuckles. He looks unphased. Right, no pain. Jesus, Dick kind of thought he was kidding. "Do you wanna get that iced?" he asks Barbara. "There's a cold pack in my mini fridge."

Dick still has a hand on Bruce's chest while he watches Barbara take Five somewhere where Bruce can't keep a glaring eye on him, and he can feel the second his uneasiness ratchets up to eleven.

"I didn't say we trusted him yet," Dick says softly, "but he's been on the streets for ages."

"According to him," Bruce says.

"Trust me then, because holy cow was he odiferous before I loaned him my bathroom. I still have his old clothes in a biohazard bag." Bruce forgot how to really laugh ages ago, but he chuffs once, so situation diffused. "Can you throw him a bone, at least? And uh, please don't get mad but he's the one that clocked me in that alley," and before Bruce can wind up to punch something, "but I don't think he meant it! I mean, Jesus he broke his hand on your  _ face _ . For a guy that's supposed to be unstoppable he's about ready to fall apart."

"He hurt you."

Dick shrugs. "I got over it, and it was  _ my  _ head."

"Convince me to not just bring him to Arkham."

"He might know about Joker Venom," Dick offers, and Bruce's interest is piqued. "Guy got dragged into the whole thing with Valeska and Strange."

"And Silver," Bruce rubs his jaw in thought, then more carefully when he touches Five's handiwork. "You think he knows more than he told you."

"I think he's gotta trust us more, too," Dick says, "so maybe lay off the punches unless he's really earned them."

"I'll consider it," Bruce sighs. "I know you meant to stay out of this part of the family business-"

"Hey, I'm just doing what a homeless guy asked me to do. This is regular good samaritan type stuff. Don't need a mask or anything." The side of Bruce's face that isn't all busted up quirks up into a smile. "But while we're talking masks, is Jason seriously driving the Batmobile?"


End file.
